


Surprise

by elffeets (twoplanets)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 22:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoplanets/pseuds/elffeets
Summary: Lavellan is bad at keeping secrets. This has worked out for Dorian before...





	Surprise

Long fingers tenderly grazed across Dorian’s bare shoulders, breaking his concentration on the notes in front of him. He sat back to feel Lavellan’s warm chest against the back of his neck. Lavellan's arms pulled him closer still.

“Is there something you want, Amatus?” Dorian kept his voice low, inviting.

“Yes, actually. Um. It’s a surprise.” Lavellan’s lips brushed the tip of Dorian’s left ear.

“Oh? A naughty surprise?”

Lavellan hesitated with a breath, then kissed Dorian’s temple. “Just come with me, ma’nehn.”

“I do love how atrocious you are at keeping secrets, to my benefit,” Dorian set his notes down as Lavellan gave him space to stand. He was spending the night in the Inquisitor’s quarters, as had become the custom more often than not. The guards posted by the throne room entrance no longer questioned the purpose of Dorian’s visits - whether that was from tiring of his too-detailed descriptions of his intentions, or from the Inquisitor having a word, Dorian wasn’t sure, but it worked out in his favor.

The truth was, the guards had an quicker time letting go of the scandal of it all than Dorian did himself. Dorian was very conscious of how his dalliances with the Inquisitor looked to Skyhold and the world. He knew the South would only see an evil Tevinter magister, bold enough to not even try to hide his attempts to corrupt the Inquisition. Voyeuristic enough to flash his abundant assets and charm his way into the Inquisitor’s bed and war table. Clearly intending to use the precocious Dalish elf as his countrymen do so ubiquitously at home. So use me, Lavellan had said, naively yet honestly, and Dorian knew he was the one charmed after all.

The large space of the quarters was shared easily. Lavellan, used to the openly warm community of his clan, was a wonderful, giving roommate. And lover. He invited Dorian into his space without hesitation - some nights he insisted on it, clinging tightly to Dorian as they drifted to sleep. Soon the desk was messily covered in Dorian’s research, his hair oils and bathing tinctures were littered about, and he was even allowed to update the curtains to an actually tasteful pattern. His time with Lavellan was full of firsts, but finding a home in his elven lover was the most unexpected and valued gift.

He was so used to the room, he felt he could navigate the room with his eyes closed. In fact, “Shall I close my eyes? Build up the suspense?”

Lavellan was lightly holding Dorian’s hand by just the fingertips, leading him towards one of the unused closet areas of the quarters. Both wore just their casual pants, Lavellan barefoot as he was most comfortable. The experienced hunter barely made a noise when walking to begin with, but Dorian noticed Lavellan seemed to take pains to be even quieter than usual.

“Amatus? Why so quiet?”

Lavellan turned around fluidly and looked once in Dorian’s eyes, then towards the floor. His hair settled, covering part of his anxious expression. “It’s just… I tried, ma’nehn, but I didn’t have so much time, you know how operations are for us these days, and now, there’s this, thing, ah, I’m not sure if I can go through with this—“

Dorian was delighted. “Oh, it is IS a surprise! Worry not, love, you know I’ll absolutely adore anything you wish to give me.” After watching his lover charge after demons and giants and red templars with all the bravery of a Maker-empowered king, Lavellan’s private shyness was delicious to watch. Were his eyelashes always this long? The elf bit his lip to stall, and Dorian felt his heart skip as if this was his first crush. “I want to see what this all is about, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so nervous, either! I kind of wish to suspend this moment. Shall I grab the time amulet?”

Lavellan looked back up, eyes piercing, not reacting to the joke. “Promise me you won’t run. I need you.”

Dorian leaned on practiced bravado to hide how his heart was melting. “Of course you need me. Luckily, I’m always reliable. Why would I ever run, my love? What have you got planned? Do you think me so judging and dismissive?”

A slight, unsure smile, a secret behind the pout. “No. Not at all, Dorian. Thank you. I trust you.”

“As long as you want me, you’ll always have me.” Dorian announced with grandeur as he stepped up to his lover and pulled him close by the waist. He kissed Lavellan’s forehead, resting his lips at the knot between his lover’s eyebrows. Lavellan leaned into the kiss for a moment before pushing away gently.

“Okay. Okay, I think I’m ready.”

“Well good! I’m absolutely dying to see what you’ve got to show me.”

Lavellan padded up to an arm’s length away from the closed closet door, legs spread in a light stance. Dorian stepped right up to the edge of the door frame, no longer hiding his excitement.

The elf jammed the palm of his hand into the handle to to jolt the door open and took off towards the balcony. “KILL IT! Kill it for me please! I can’t — look at it! I can’t do it!”

“Fasta VASS, that’s a BIG one!” Dorian never invested in his dexterity much and he wished he could reset that now. He was breaths behind the Inquisitor. What he saw, before his heart dropped to his toes and his entire being flew into flight, was a round, cheese-wheel shaped object set on a table in the middle of the closet, along with some china and silverware. In front of the setting, idly resting, ironically, a spider.

The spider was absolutely nothing like the beasts they had battled in the caves of the Western Approach, or even the mutated nightmare spiders of the Fade. Most notably, the size was significantly smaller. Perhaps the size of a large pocket-watch, legs included, if being generous.

Dorian was immediately outside on the balcony, breathing heavily next to the also-winded Inquisitor. They clung tightly to each other, staring through the open closet door as if taking their eyes away might cause the spider to advance towards them and devour them alive. It was cold outside, and the sweat from fear made the wind sting, and this was “Probably the worst surprise I’ve ever been so sweetly led to, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, don’t get formal with me now, why can’t you kill it?”

“Why can’t you? Why didn’t you??”

“I can’t! I can’t! What if I miss and it comes after me? It’s… so… gross!”

“You’ve killed beasts thousands of times larger—“

“And so have you —“

“How can you possibly be afraid of a small spider with all that’s out in this world, right now, that you have been fighting, for months,”

“Hey, the nightmare in the Fade showed you spiders TOO, you know —“

“That’s very true, Amatus, so tell me this, why did you think I might have ANY better luck facing this creature down —“

“I thought, maybe, it would be slightly less of a nightmare for you!”

“The nightmare literally took the form of our WORST individual fears —“

“Oh don’t get technical with me now, Dorian Pavus!”

A loud shushing sliced into the heat of their argument. Both looked to the source. Across the courtyard, a bedheaded Cullen was visibly fuming out the crumbling window frame of his quarters, his fur thing thrown hastily over his pajamas, poofing wildly. “I can hear the both of you clearly across from here!” He whisper-shouted. Some other windows began to flicker with new candlelight. “Don’t include the rest of Skyhold in your pillow talk! Go to sleep!” A pause. “… Inquisitor!” A formal, curt nod and Cullen prowled out of view of the window frame like a crabby, sleepy lion.

“Well now, withdrawal brings out the ferocity in our dear commander!” Dorian said just a little too loud. He knew he was being mean. He was, petulantly, upset about there not actually being a good surprise. Which brought him back to closer matters. “And where is your staff, Amatus? Couldn’t you have just shot a fireball and be done with it?”

“In the undercroft, I was upgrading it earlier today. Where’s yours?.”

“Oh, I don’t want to know. You would be the one to figure out how to add plaidweave to a bloody weapon. And my staff? just how far do you think your guards, or literally anyone else who happened to be in the throne room, would have let me get if I sauntered up to your quarters carrying my own weapon, hmm?”

“I didn’t think about that… I’m sorry.”

Dorian softened and moved closer to his love. “Oh, Amatus. It’s quite alright. You have enough to consider across the entire world. It’s for me to worry about, alright?” He wrapped a firm arm around Lavellan’s defeated shoulders and pulled him close again. Lavellan leaned into his touch, his cheek soft against Dorian’s collarbone.

“I guess… shooting fire at the closet would ruin the surprise anyway.” Lavellan mumbled.

“The surprise is quite ruined without magic even getting involved, I dare say.”

The elf blushed, the tips of his ears reddened, frustrated. Curious. Dorian nuzzled the tip of his nose against Lavellan’s cheek, encouraging him to speak.

“Dorian… isn’t it your nameday tomorrow? Today, technically, now that the moon is fully risen?”

“Why… I believe you’re correct! How did you know?” Dorian’s soft surprise got him babbling, pulling away a bit. “I had no expectations for doing anything for it, I mean, I never really do anything for it anyway, it gets a bit old after a while, seems to just remind you OF being old, and there’s no family here to celebrate with me, so,”

“Dorian, let me be your family here.” Lavellan said it so quickly the words ran into each other. He was looking down, but once the full honest sentence was freed, he spun to face Dorian, challenging and vulnerable. “I want to celebrate with you.”

Lavellan was always showing Dorian so many firsts. This feeling of whole-hearted support and thoughtful care was entirely new. The fact that Dorian wasn’t the one to say it, that “of course I deserve to be celebrated,” to hide that he didn’t really believe anyone would ever say something like that to him, was important. Lavellan completely believed in his worth. It struck Dorian speechless. His jaw worked twice. When Lavellan noticed, he stood up straighter, confidence growing.

“So… I made you a nameday cake, Ma’Nehn.” They were facing each other now, Dorian clasping Lavellan’s bare waist at either side. “It’s mostly Dalish-style, since that’s what I’m trained in, but we do have some human cookery influences. I haven’t baked in a while, and the tools are quite different from what we used in the clan, but I had a lot of help from the cooks at Herald’s Rest.”

Dorian’s eyes glittered. “You are glorious, amatus. Thank you. I’ve never had a Dalish dessert before!” At this admission, his stomach fell privately. He trusted his politic training to hide his true expression, realizing that said dessert may include herbs or other unspeakable, uncooked things that came straight from the ground. “It’s… it’s cooked yes?”

Lavellan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yes. It’s a cake… it’s baked.” He looked at Dorian, not understanding.

“Oh, of course. Yes. It’s wonderful. I’m so excited to try it.”

Lavellan laughed in disbelief. Dorian wanted to hear his laugh for the rest of his life. “Have you even taken a proper look at it?”

“Oh? It’s here?”

“Yes… behind the….” The both of them, pressed together from the hip down, arms around each other, separated slightly to look towards the closet door. The table inside proudly displayed the very rustic looking pastry, no longer guarded. The spider was not within peripheral view at all. They slowly turned back to face each other, wide-eyed.

“Amatus?”

“Ma’Nehn?”

“I feel like celebrating my nameday in my own quarters tonight. Would you do me the honor of joining me?”

“I would be delighted.” Said in a single flat breath.

“Let’s make haste, while the night is young, shall we? There’s much to enjoy in each other.”

Two pairs of feet, one heavy and brash, one swift and light, raced down the spiral staircase. 

The cake was sent for very late the next morning, when the first of the couple to wake up was able to reach a guard. Since then, Varric is known to tell the story about the morning the chain of Inquisition guards that, in turns, ran screaming from the Inquisitor’s quarters, begging for assistance. The ideas of what waited in the room grow more ridiculous with each telling. 

Dorian would never forget the sight of the cake’s eventual delivery: an exhausted, grunting Cassandra, dragging her greatsword in one hand and delicately balancing the cake plate in her other, kicking down the door to his quarters with a biting “Happy Nameday, mage.”


End file.
